


Crashing Silence

by YanderePuppet



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Adult Themes, Alternate Ending, Angst, Cause I don't know if I need a warning there, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mindfuck, More like Yangire though, Possibly Unrequited Love, Weirdness, Yandere/Yangire behaviour, is mind control consent?, yandere!Sephiroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderePuppet/pseuds/YanderePuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle on advent day goes differently, resulting in Cloud losing the ability to speak, with no cure anywhere that Avalanche can find the only option is to ask the person who took his everything to repair the damage. However, things don't go as planned. Not for avalanche, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voiceless

**Author's Note:**

> Based on tears don't fall part 2 by bullet for my valentine, because I misheard the lyrics as "final words" instead of "final breath" And interpreted it in a weirder way

 

The dark swarming grey of the sky seemed to come to a standstill. There was nothing but the two of them in that moment, even the entire fight leading up to this single second in which Cloud seemed frozen for six eternities, the echoes of the last words he’d spoken ringing through his own ears. _There is not a thing I_ don’t _cherish._ He choked out a mangled gasp. Not so much out of breath from using omnislash to send the ( _man)_ not quite man before him back to the waiting arms of death once again. No, the reason was the unnecessarily, precisely sharp and long and _horrible_ weapon that had him impaled directly in what he knew could only be his voice box. His virulent cobalt eyes wavered and watered as those pale lips twisted so slowly into their signature smirk, poisonous mako colored eyes so smugly satisfied.

“Then, I will simply but a barrier between you and everything else.” The (not) man said, twisting the famous sword he held so cruelly. Inhuman were lips twisted so _cruelly_ . “These words of yours, will be mine alone.” And with that, the (not) man (not human at all) disintegrated so eerily till he was naught but a thousand miniscule mites of black dust (so dark they blotted out the sky,) blowing away in the wind. The sword remained for a small handful of eternities as Cloud felt the sudden assault on his mind, so much like the last time he’d killed this man, (that final assault, that last battle inside his mind in the lifestream. It seemed so long ago now) except, this time, he could do nothing. He was _so_ exhausted and worn out and _tired..._ and _gods…_ everything _hurt_ . Those words, those cruelly whispered _words,_ had him so confused already. The pain only increased to a sharp pang of non-stop agony, the confusion getting worse. Minutes stretched on, something in him twisting to the cruel entities desire, but what it was, Cloud had no idea. He only knew it hurt, and he was so horrified and confused he didn’t know how to even begin to fight back. He was granted reprieve, however, as (soon enough,) he fell unconscious.

**\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Cloud awoke from blankness to the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in (maybe that was a feeling that happened after sleeping on the floor for years and years of his life, or hard bunks in barracks), and several pairs of familiar eyes staring at him in concern. He opened his mouth to inquire as to how he’d gotten here (where was he even? The room was… _vaguely familiar)_ , but all that escaped his lips was a choked series of gurgling noises. He shut his mouth in a panic, remembering what Sephiroth had said. His words…. the man had taken his ability to speak. Vincent’s hand covered his head, soothingly cold and effectively anchoring him to the present.

“Cloud… we’re sorry. Everyone tried all the healing spells we have, your body somehow rejected anything that came near…. your…. vocal cords.” Vincent looked away in shame. “We couldn’t repair what he’s done to you. We even used the water in the church.” those crimson eyes softened, and turned away.

“We’ll keep trying. We can figure something out.” Tifa chimed optimistically. Cloud couldn’t even feel affected by her words. He simply fought the rising bile and panic and urge to scream that he knew would do little more than provide him with more proof that he really couldn’t speak. He choked back a severely muted sob that sounded dead even to himself. Even everyone comforting him did nothing to the sudden void he felt. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tell them the horrific thought in his mind. Why didn’t _Tifa_ know this? SHe should…Wounds from that sword _couldn’t_ be healed with magic. THe many scars on his body could attest to that. THe ugly scar marring her chest from her near death on it seven years ago, Zangan’s letter telling her as much… Why didn’t she realize it was hopeless?

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For weeks the rest of avalanche did their best to stay nearby, not saying anything about the strangled goose noises that had replaced his once melodically unimpressed voice. His eyes had run out of tears, the blue merely dulled. they’d attempted to teach him sign language, but the gestures and hand signals wouldn’t stick in his mind. He tried so hard, but not a single one managed to stay. Someone brought in a therapist to retrain his voice, and for months he went through with no progress. It was only a few weeks after that that he was given a brain scan and told

“It appears the Broca’s area of your brain is severely damaged. It’s a miracle you can even understand what’s being said to you. THe damage seems very methodical, you’re probably lucky.” He hated hospitals already, but the pity, the melancholy atmosphere of the room was _strangling_ to him even more than the (feared _loathed)_ needles on the shelves, and the ( _nightmarish)_ glint of lanyards against the lab coats that reminded him so much of things he _didn’t_ want to remember.

He took to writing down what he needed to say from then on, (he was so _thankful_ he still remember how to do as much) but it was inefficient and tacky, (to say the least.). He’d had to close down the delivery service because it taxed him too much emotionally to answer questions whenever a customer questioned his scratch paper, or how he’d lost his voice ( _“you were fine last time I saw. You.” “Is this why you took so long on the last package?”)_ . His friends had a harder time reading him, his unemotional exterior and lack of non-evasive body language a huge communication barrier that would normally be broken by the wavering tones of his voice. How did one convey that on paper? Cloud eventually gave up trying. Instead he would lie awake until someone, usually Vincent, would come in and just cast sleep on him, with the purpose of keeping him calmed down when he panicked, and energized when he’d neglected sleep for too long. Vincent also accompanied him any time he left the room that he’d since learned was in Healin. Rufus had apparently lent Avalanche half of the lodge for what he dubbed as “Cloud watching.” When Tifa admonished him for calling it such in front of Cloud, Rufus had merely caught his eyes, stating “Cloud knows more than anyone that it’s incurable. You’re all just watching to make sure he doesn’t do anything self detrimental because of that.” ( _And oh how he’d tried._ He learned the hard way that he too, like Vincent;s dearly loved Lucrecia, couldn’t die so easily anymore.)

Rufus came in every two weeks to ramble on about how Reeve was doing, or what asinine stunts Reno had pulled recently. Cloud eventually came to the conclusion that Rufus blamed himself for Cloud’s predicament, as he’d been the one who’d “sent” him after the madman in the first place. Cloud honestly didn’t blame Rufus. The former president had been right to “send” him off to that fight that would’ve meant unavoidable doom to anyone else. Besides, he hadn’t cared enough for the ex-presidents ramblings, and only got pulled in by the sheer inevitability that _anything_ pertaining to Sephiroth anymore would always involve him (often against his own will.) He _knew_ that strength wise, he could never actually compete with the former war-hero (turned god-complex riddled entity hell bent on the genocide of the entire human race.) No one could, it wasn’t humanly possible. He’d only won the fights he’d won because of luck, and flukes, and that inhuman man _toying_ with hims and (underestimating) allowing him to have a victory that was never solid enough to feel deserved. And he knew exactly why things _were_ that way. It was the simple, single fact that he _knew_ Sephiroth wouldn’t actually kill him. Because he’d learned from geostigma caused hallucinations that, not only did his existence _anchor_ ( ** _“You’ll be the one to bring me back”_** ) the man to life, he was also the only thing left of the man’s past ( ** _“I can’t lose you like I lost them, you know. You’re not allowed to die, to betray me like they did.”_** ) . A knock on the door shook Cloud from his musings. He heard the rustle of thick felt and cotton, and knew instantly who it was as they approached. He turned to stare at Vincent instead.

“I…. We think we might’ve found a way to cure you. But the other’s…. well…. they don’t want…… to go about it this way.” Vincent began, the atmosphere extremely heavy. “There was an explosion in edge recently, and one near Aerith’s old house. Signs of mako poisoning have been noticed on various citizens who were near said explosions, as well as symptoms very similar to those of the stigma... and there … have been whispers.” If he’d had his voice, Cloud would have asked for the point, Vincent had normally not been one to skirt around so much. That told him what he needed to know, and it appeared Vincent saw it in his gaze. Only a handful of months, and Sephiroth was Forming again.  “He’s only a spirit. He’ll likely want to lure you to him in order to reform himself. Its risky, but you may be able to convince him to fix what he did. Rufus told me I should let you know. He also forgot to mention that you shouldn’t go alone, as we have no idea what **_he’s_ ** planning. You and him together is always a bad mixture” Cloud nodded at him, assuring the former turk that he would keep this in mind. For now, he would simply stew over what he’d heard.

“I understand. I’ll wait for you to be ready then.” He scrawled on his scratch paper. Vincent nodded and left the room, the door clicked with an odd finality as he left. ( **_Soon._ ** )


	2. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the mirror shows not but the horrors of reality, and the illusions of another's warped perspective

 

The only sound to be heard from the small, dimly lit, ( _and_ poorly decorated) room in which Cloud slept was the rustling of his bedsheets, as he tossed and turned and just ... _thought_ with his pursed lips and steady eyes. _If I go…. what are the chances I’ll even convince him to fix this? He’s the definition of insane, and he’s predictably the definition of unpredictable... unpredictable but so… put together and...what if I just play right into his hands again? What if this is what he wants me to do? I know he has very few limits to what he’s willing to do to get to me, but……. that only causes there to be more possibilities._

The blonde punched the wall, knowing that the room was soundproof and the others would remain unaware of his current self-hating detriment to his person as he slammed his fist against the wall until it bled from a series of scrapes and lacerations along his knuckles and palm. The wall itself had several holes by the time he was satisfied. The _padded_ **_metal_ ** **wall.**   _What do I do? There are so many uncertainties that I don’t know how to deal with. Do I go and risk letting him use this against me in some way? Risk letting him reduce me back to that mindless obedient thing he wants me to be? Or do I just give up and lay here? Or give in entirely? Is there no rectifying this hopeless situation?_

Cobalt eyes hung listlessly, tormented by possibility and chance as the twenty-three year old thoughtlessly cast curative magic on his hand, (forgetting why he’d stopped using materia over the past few years, in a lapse of judgment). His mind trailed back a couple years prior to his face off against the madman in the crater. To those _words_ during that final battle that was more of wills than anything. _(“You will always be mine first, deny it as you undoubtedly will, we both know that I’m always the main thing on your mind, aren’t I?”)_ He remembered so vividly _every_ stab wound the man had ever inflicted on him. _(“Never forget again. Not a single thing, word, feeling. These are reminders for you, of what was and what should be.” And a chuckle and a smirk that echoed through his mind, haunting him, taunting him.)_

Could he really do this again, not even five months after his last encounter, with more weighing him down than before? He stared at a mirror placed, either conveniently for his current brooding, or by some terrible happenstance that would be his downfall, directly across the room from his bed. He wandered over to it as though drawn forward by a spell, steps trance-like, face haunted. His eyes glowed as usual, but the color itself had dulled to a stormy, melancholy hue. His hair laid flatter than usual, messy and mangled, the individual spikes matted and tangly. He’d lost some weight, though he’d had little else to entertain himself but exercise and thereby his wiry frame looked no less trained. His scowling lips were suffering from bitemarks and scabs from biting back words he could no longer say, and his face was paler than usual from lack of sunlight, (the light spattering of freckles so glaringly obvious because of how much darker they were than everything else.) Did he have them before? He didn’t know.) He could see the faint scar on his throat where his vocal cords had been severed. It was so precise, that sharp, thin, _sickly_ white line of raised scar tissue right under his adam's apple. His sleep clothes hid the other scars from sight, the ones he made a point not to look at. He’d avoided mirrors in any room where one was typically naked for years, going so far as to smash the bathroom mirror connected to his and Tifa’s joint rooms at the bar, (though) he rarely stayed there. But in this moment, something clicked to him, a curiosity of sorts. There were many places he should have scars that he left uncovered, places where he’d been bit by wolves or swung at by a Tonberry’s knife, and not one of those locations had anything to show for his previous injuries. Feeling dazed, Cloud carefully took off the button up cotton sleep shirt, and stared blankly at his abdomen. He knew he should have a scar from where Ultima weapon had gotten its claws embedded in his side, but the only apparent marks were two smaller scars, precisely the width of a nodachi blade, a specific one he knew all too well. The stark white scars were of course, below and to the right of his shoulder blade, and the front of his right shoulder, both, he knew without doubt, from hanging suspended from the business end of the Masamune while Sephiroth looked at him with that smug, content smirk and (those _condescendingly_ green eyes that roamed, and trailed over his impaled frame so casually possessive) gave  that look that reminded him of a mean child who’s kitten had scratched them and, in a bought of fearful rage, run away. Run, only to be caught with nowhere to go. That look that was so predatory, yet so... sedate. So... _calm_ , so certain, so sure of… _something_ . _(“Do as you wish. You will always return to me in the end.”)_ The rest of the scars were lighter marks from the casual slashes the man had thrown at him after he’d literally _thrown_ him of of the sword through his shoulder. Cloud knew there was another one where the near-deity had pierced through his foot. As he looked, he reached the conclusion that every last scar on his body was given to him by the same (not) ‘man’ without exception. The small, bullet proof window lit up with a flash of lightning, and as it illuminated his room further he couldn’t help but think his scars seemed reminiscent of brands (so eerily like the ones people sometimes marked cattle or chocobos with) It scared him that he knew that must have been intentional. That he understood at all the way that strange, inhuman being (so loved and despised and admired by him once, long long ago) thought or felt. _(“Mine You are_ mine _and mine alone. Forever. You will remember eventually.”)_ Like he was teetering at the edge of the insanity he’d been dipping in and out of for years, ready to crash to the bottom where _he_ was. ( _Have to go. If he’s there I should be to.)_

 ** _“So close to realization. It’s almost painful seeing you flounder around so much.”_** A voice whispered, echoing about the room. The blonde choked back his usual retort before he could embarrass himself with more strangled gurgling noises. _Shut up._ He thought in the direction of the voice, knowing so _painfully_ well that the speaker could hear. ( _No thought was safe.)_ ** _“Wouldn’t you like some help,_** **Cloud** ** _?”_**  The voice continued to purr, silkily emphasizing the blonde’s name as he drew it out, caressing the syllable so slowly with that purr of a voice.

 _'No thanks._ _I can_ think _for myself, without your input fucking it up..'_ The blonde thought bitterly. **_“_**

 ** _Hmmmn.”_** The voice chuckled in amusement. **_“You know that’s false. You know it very well, don’t you? After all,”_** the voice began, the surface of the mirror appearing to ripple as he spoke. Cloud could swear he felt hands on him, stroking his cheeks, petting his head, caressing the scars along his abdomen. He swore he could feel lips against his ear, moving with each word, leaving featherlight kisses along his earlobe. **_“Your will…”_** the voice continued, pausing as the mirror revealed Sephiroth standing behind Cloud, though there was no one behind him when he turned to look. **_“Belongs only to me._** ** _”_**

The spectre in the mirror trailed its hand gently down the blonde’s jawline, hooking long, deft fingers around his chin to lift it up. Synchronised with the image on the mirror, the invisible touches did the same, his head leaning (against his will) up and back with the pressures that tilted and pulled at his chin. He was still left with a good view of the mirror ( _needed to see what was being shown_ ** _revealed_** _to him. **Needed** to, he couldn’t look away.) _**_“Look at yourself, puppet. Look at how perfect you look, outlined against me, in my arms like this. This is how things should be, you know. Us, together, with you so helplessly at the mercy of my every whim and desire.”_** The image of Sephiroth slowly sauntered out, silvery hair framing everything but his smirk as the illusionary form became the invisible presence that the blonde could feel behind himself. He saw him when he looked back, saw him in the mirror. Saw how gold the blonde of his hair was, juxtaposed to that silken fall of silver. How much smaller and _lither_ he looked compared to that tall, graceful and _powerful_ form. **_“I told you, didn’t I? I bring out everything more with you, draw the real you out to the surface. Those fools, they who took you away don’t see it like we do. How beautiful of an image we make, how perfect this really is. Me and you as one this way.”_** And he couldn’t deny it, there was an allure there, in the glowing , dark _madness_ in those eyes, the cruel twist in those  lips. Those sharp edges to otherwise beautifully defined features, the definition of hard, wiry muscles.

He gave a small inch, giving in his confirmation. He could see, could feel an attraction forward. (Madness, insanity… it shouldn’t be so beautifully and horribly appealing. He shouldn’t be admiring the man who nearly took everything from him like this.). As the spectral illusion of the one being he _should_ despise, ( _but couldn’t, oh gods he couldn’t hate him. He should. He wanted to. He had every right, but, years of admiration and damned near worship wouldn’t just disappear so easily)_ leaned forward, Cloud could feel each ripple of each individual muscle (as the illusion had on nothing but pants and boots, and even those were so tight they only reaffirmed how taught and perfected each muscle was) so cold and so _appealing_ against his bare skin. He could feel each silky strand of silvery -hair as it cascaded around him, tickling against his flesh, so soft, softer than he’d ever imagined. Worst of all, he could see the miniscule twitch of those pale lips as they loomed closer and closer to his own, before finally crashing into them ever so gently. A sudden buzzing noise invaded the blonde’s skull, a pleasantly unpleasant humming that drowned out all else but _him_ and incessantly increased with a growing _boiling_ ** _building_** pressure that hurt. And underlying it all was the compulsive undeniable need. ( _have to go. Have to go, he’s calling me, I can hear_ ** _feel_** _it. I can’t tay, I_ ** _need_** _need to go._ ** _Need. I need. Need to be with him, near him._** ) THis illusion, it wasn’t enough. He had to go. Had to be with the real thing, had to head the call in his blood. There was nothing, not singular thought he could hold onto to keep this need from overtaking all else, so familiar to him, even in this undisguised state ( ** _Follow. Pursue. What did the term matter? He knew better now, understood that this was a summon, nothing more. He Knew he wasn’t being drawn there of his own volition._** ) The mirror revealed the  flicker change of eye-colors to the blonde, showing him where vivid cobalt turned to vibrant jade and back to stormy blue. Where round, human pupils narrowed to slits and dialated back. Over and over. THe pain, the ringing in his ears, and chanting voices in his head grew worse. **_“Come to me.”_** the spectre commanded as it faded away into nothingness. The blonde blew open the window, disappearing seamlessly into the night. He would go. He had to, had no choice. **_“Faster, my pet. Come, rush to my side like the good little toy you are.”_** Obediently, he sped up.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited* Oh gods, I added so much crap to this. I left so many gaps in the plot and just, ugh, how did anyone understand what I meant in this chapter enough to enjoy it?


	3. Prepare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh  
> Cloud's doing a bad.  
> Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't really edit this one farther

 

A slight draft came from the open window, and judging by the room’s temperature, Vincent deduced it had been open for about an hour. Cloud was likely in midgar already, and had enough of a head-start to try what they’d spoken of, even if the others noticed his missing bike within the next minute. But Vincent would wait till they found out on their own. The blonde’s decision was his alone, no one could make it for him. Vincent knew this- but, something kept nagging him. He brushed it aside and waited. Then with a creak the door opened.

“...Cloud?” Tifa’s voice echoed softly. Vincent looked at her, shook his head, and pointed at the window. “Gone again. I knew it was a matter of time before- ….but… without his voice how will he…?” She paused, looking at his face. “Vincent, he went  _ there _ , didn’t he?” 

“It would appear so. His bike is gone too, I’m surprised no one heard, even through Rufus’ soundproofed walls.” Vincent turned back to the window, looking at the empty parking space below the blonde’s appointed room. 

“We have to go after him before he does something stupid!” She exclaimed loudly, voice wavering frantically as she slammed her fist on the door.

“It’s his choice.” The former turk replied, inclining his head slightly towards the frantic woman quite calmly. “He’s dealt with it this on his own before and won. He’ll be fine.”

“But…” She didn’t know why she had such a bad feeling about it.

“Just leave it to Cloud.” Neither one of them spoke more of the matter, despite the foreboding that clutched at both of their senses, preventing focus on all else.

\----------------------------------------------_____________________________

The night air was pleasantly cool, the relief of finally being outdoors after weeks of cooped up stays in Healen was second only to that stupid myriad of calling and tugging sensations directing him away towards the one thing dreaded, feared, eagerly anticipated, and hopefully, the thing that would fix what had been done. As much as he resented the inexplicable feeling of being drawn towards  _ Him _ , the ability to sense where  _ he _ was (whenever  _ he _ was at least partially alive) was useful in situations such as this. As it was, the conflicting emotions flitting and clashing though his skull made it extremely difficult to focus on the roads over which he was maneuvering. He still never crashed, he was too attuned to each thrumming note, each deafening purr his bike could and would make, his muscle memory of the streets in edge was far too impressive for that, and it was late enough that no one else was out save perhaps a few stragglers in the bars. He rode faster, ignoring the gravel flying up behind him. He was close, only a few turns away. He brushed off the worry about not having a plan- (when did he ever plan anything anyway?) the church came into view. He slowed to a stop carefully, bare feet gingerly touching to the ground as he stepped off (he didn't bother wondering why riding barefoot didn't burn anymore. His system was just too jacked up on mako to feel any effect) and with a light pattering of footfall he entered the familiar sanctuary, senses assaulted with compulsory  _ need  _ that he found impossible to ignore. He could see two figures and what looked like a body without limbs, that had excessively long, silky, flowing hair. He stepped forward towards it, ignoring the other two after acknowledging their presence. It was the other two remnants, still alive, but not for much longer if he was right. And his intuition was usually always right (the fact that the man slowly reforming before him  _ was _ that intuition most times went forcefully ignored.) The lips of the head on armless torso before him turned up into a smirk. 

“ **_You're late, Cloud.”_ **

The blonde merely nodded.  _ I know.  _ He thought in response.  _ But I'm here.  _

“ **_Yes, that you are.”_ ** The voice replied, arms forming slowly on the figure, little by little. He noticed faintly that the two remaining remnants seemed to grow more transparent as the man reformed, but there was something missing. Likely what he was needed here for. He waited, the pressure in his head forcing him to remain placated and inactive as the arms formed- long and lithe- and hard, wiry muscle came into place. He watched spirals form the man's spidery fingers, the arm lifting towards him as they did. The tips of the fingers formed against his cheek, stroking down to his jaw where they lifted his face.

“Come closer.” The tall man said, legs forming over the edge of the pedestal on which he sat. Cloud stepped forward until the pedestal blocked him from walking any closer. The fingers on his jaw gripped his chin, guiding his face forward where his lips were captured in a very aggressive kiss, legs forming on either side of him. The cascading voices grew louder. He parted his lips, returning the kiss, the voices never fading. That voice slid right over them, demanding his attention. “ **_Mine.”_ ** It purred.  **_“Yes, and you will bring me back.”_ **

\--------------------------------------------

“You mean, that shithead went off on his own again, with all this horsefuck going on? God fucking dammit. Little shits always doing this.” Cid swore, a little  _ too _ loudly. Tifa wisely decided not to chide him, tensions in the room far too delicate to risk any possible infighting from the group. 

“Damned fucking spikehead.” Barret agreed. “Le’s bring ‘em back before anythin’ bad happens.”

“I agree. He's always  _ wayyy _ too moody* Yuffie calls, agitatedly rocking back on her heels, then forward again.

“I doubt he wants us interfering.” Vincent's  hoarse voice reasoned, the former Turk himself looking out the window in his usual dramatic style. 

“But don't you think his judgment might be a bit skewed? I thought he'd gotten better but he's still the same as he was two years ago. We have to stop him, because he can't control himself.” She finally spoke up. “I've been thinking a lot about it, and we've all been so shallow. I realize that you probably understand him the best, Vincent, but even you have to realize that the brooding you both do makes things worse. We…. We all want to help damnit!” Tifa mentally berated herself. What if that was too forward? She shook her head, dwelling on it would be both hypocritical and counterproductive. Vincent shifted, cape flaring at the motion. He turned slowly to face the others, red eyes unreadable.

“....very well.” He seemed to finally understand, nodding behind the high cowl like collar of his cloak. “I'll come too.” 

“Fuck. I ain't missing out or shit.” Cid answered, lighting a cigarette absently. 

“Then I betta’ go too.” Barret agrees. 

“I….don't like shinra still, so you had better not leave me behind!” Yuffie called excitedly. Rufus glared idly at her, but did nothing other than that. Nanaki howled his agreement.

“I can finally go home once I'm certain it's resolved.” He mutters calmly. “Once I'm sure he's alright.”

“I can send Cait along.” Reeve says, a little self consciously.

“All right!” Tifa says enthusiastically. “Let's go everybody!”

 


	4. Do you love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mine"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was meant to be the final Chapter... but I have no inspiration, and I don't want to put this chapter off, so enjoy. I'll add actual smut to make the wait worth it next time ^.^

**_Do you love me?_** That voice asked him later. He wasn’t sure how to reply so he just leaned forward and nodded a little, suddenly feeling that he did, underneath all the hate and the splitting headache. The thought did feel oddly heavy and different but he didn’t mind. A thumb caressed his lips. **_Good._** The voice all but purred. **_Then show me how much._** He couldn’t help himself, actions compulsive as he let the incorporeal hand guide his own to where his pajama bottoms were beginning to fall, couldn’t help it even as both of their hands caressed him to a full erection. He let out a low, heady moan. The ghost of a smirk appeared before him. ** _“Good boy.”_** The voice said approvingly. His pulse sped up. Those arms were around him, and all he could smell was smoke, leather, and perfume. All he could see was milky pale pects, tight leather, and his own lap. All he could hear was **_that_** voice. And all the accompanying cacophony of the voices that came with **_his_** voice. His own thoughts were soon drowned by this, and he let himself be pulled along by them, bending over to try harder, pump faster as it was encouraged. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well Vincent, where are we going?” Tifa asked, as the former turk drove them around in an old beaten up truck. (it was Tifa’s truck, but Vincent had the best idea where Cloud was.)

“We need weapons and better gear to fight him. We can’t go against the strongest being on the planet in our nightclothes, completely weaponless.” Vincent informed. Cid grunted his agreement from the back. No one mentioned there fear that they would fight the  _ two  _ strongest, except Cid.

“‘Cept the problem is that we don’t know how much time we have now till he breaks Cloud down again. Or if blondie‘ll even be somewhat  _ sane  _ when we get there. Fucking dumbass, he shoulda learned by now.” Tifa was glad he’d decided to sit in the tailgate, because the smoke from his cigarette billowed as he spoke, and she didn’t want it in her car. Even if a bit came through the opened windows anyway.

“Spiky don’ ever learn. He’s jes’ too thick headed.” Barret agreed.

“He can be quite rash sometimes, yes.” Nanaki added. “But he does it to keep us safe. I can respect his selfless resolve, however foolish it may be.” Yuffie was tapping her foot.

“I think Cloud is a jerk for acting like we need protecting!” She exclaimed boisterously. “And we should take his materia for it!” The others just stared. “What? That was a joke. I don’t need to, cause he gave it all to me.” She elaborated with a grin. 

“We get it lass.” Cait sounded exasperated as he sighed his words. “This innae the time fer jokes. We ‘avta be serious.” 

“At any rate,” Vincent announced gloomily, “We’re at the bar. Everyone get your weapons quickly. I don’t think we have much time.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His entire head hurt, pounded. It was agony, but he couldn’t help but moan even in spite of it. The endorphins caused by the movement lower down made it hardly noticeable, despite the fact that his mind was almost literally being torn apart and reassembled as he was milked. He could hardly think, but the voices said he didn’t need to, that he was alright letting him ( _ master _ ) speak and think and decide for him. He was too caught up in this, too fucked up and jumbled and brainwashed to even care. He believed the voices, he felt safe and at peace. It was almost as if he no longer had the drive to question… ( _ but why would he anyway? He felt so happy and peaceful right now. _ ) 

**_“Can you release for me?”_ ** _ His _ voice inquired. Master’s voice. He nodded, feeling the liquid dripping _ squirting _ out even as he did. And as the thick, sticky liquid spilled out, it was absorbed. He had a passing moment of realization ( _ cells. It’s for the cells, so he can really form. I have some, that’s why...) _

**_“_** _Shh.”_ the voice echoed, no longer in his head, but forming from corporeal lips, darkly pale, corpse like, thin, shapely lips. Familiar lips. Narrow face, long nose, pale bloodless skin, long dark lashes shading pale jade eyes. That hair falling around him, like a curtain, or a cage, or “ ** _strings”_** the voice cut in. “Fitting, isn’t it?” Those lips whispered against his neck, breath warm, but only present when the words formed, skin icy cold. Equally icy fingertips trailed his chin, his cheeks. “For you?” the man continued to mouth, before switching to his mind **_“Puppet”_** He didn’t know why there were so many switches between speech and thought projection, but it didn’t seem important, so he just nodded, a bit hesitant. Now that the pleasure was gone, that small part of his head was fighting back at the invasive happiness he knew wasn’t his own. He squirmed a little, trying to get away, regain a little more of himself, not give in so easily. “Now now, Cloud, you can’t be doing that.” Was whispered into his earlobe, accompanied by a low chuckle, and proceeded by a bite to the top of his lobe. Hands roamed his body again, and that small part of him _raged,_ trying to break the hold before it was overwhelmed. He noticed vaguely that they were both nude, barely registering it, even as he was moved to a sitting position on the man-monster’s lap, perfectly aligned to be breached. In a panic, he _pleaded_.   
‘ _Don’t,’_ he thought, _‘please.’_ But even as he sounded his thoughts, new ones flooded in to replace them. ( _I love him. I want this, I want to be with him. I have to. Always. He loves me, so I need to love him too.)_ He couldn’t brush away all of them, there were too many. He was engulfed in an undulating stream of false thoughts, what the man wanted him to think and feel. He felt himself sinking, mentally and physically. All he could think all he could feel was that he was suddenly being breached, both in mind and in body. His cheeks parting for the flesh below him, and his mind overtaken once more.

“I love you, Cloud.” Was whispered against his lips, and it’s all he can do not to reply in kind, or moan. The urge to give in is strong, and in the end, he fails the latter, can’t even moan properly as he gives in, having no voice for it. The low sound of his own shattered, failed attempt at a moan surprises him, causing him to flush with embarrassment. But, he’s soon rewarded with a real kiss, and with the kiss he almost-moans again. He stops fighting as he’s allowed to breathe. 

_ ‘I love you too.”  _ He thinks. Rewarded with a thrust. He can’t help but continue saying it in his mind over and over, until even that part of him that was fighting believes it wholeheartedly. Each utterance is rewarded with a rougher and rougher thrust, encouraging him to give in more and more. And eventually there's no fight left. His eyes glow with dull mindless obedience and a glimmer of obsessive love. Until they glow a dully vibrant  _ green. _

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tifa watched the other’s dig for their least damaged weapons. She was a little miffed that they all hadn’t thought to keep one in Healin with them, but, well, it had been short notice and no one had wanted to leave to get one… well, except... Cloud, hyper paranoid as he has always been. She knew he’d had his main sword, but he’d wanted to have all of them on hand, and, paranoid like he was, he clearly brought them along, as they weren’t in his room anymore. She sighed, changing into her old outfit, the crop top a little too big now that she’d lost weight from the sheer stress of it all. The shorts still fit around her hips, with the help of a belt. Metal reinforced gloves with appropriate padding, and scuffed old boots with steel in the toes but padding to prevent damage to her own feet, that were lightweight enough elsewhere to not  impair her mobility while kicking. Briefly, she wondered if fisticuffs was really the right choice. What could her own body do against a supersoldier with a blade longer than her body’s actual length?

“How are you holding up?” A rough, deep voice intoned behind her. 

“I don’t know Vince. Do you feel like this is hopeless too? Or is it just me who’s feeling it?”

“I feel as though we pose no threat to him, and our quest will end up too late. The night grows dimmer.” He replied morosely.

“I… I’m scared.” Tifa admitted. “If you’re right, and Cloud’s….” She choked on the word, though whether it was “controlled” or “broken” she didn’t know. “ I don’t think… we stand a chance.” 

“I understand. It’s hard to have to fight the one you love, even if you know they’re not really what’s fighting you.” Vincent empathized with her. “I had difficulty fighting with Lucrecia, even though ours was only with words.” Tifa’s eyes softened as she looked over at him.

“Can I… count on you to pull through if I can’t?” She asked.

“I can’t fail those I care for again. I will do anything within my power to stop this.”

“Thank you, Vincent.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was panting now. Coated in a sheen of sweat, spent and numb. Those cold arms entrapped him, but he felt safe encaged like this. Kisses were peppered along his face, fingertips ghosting along his back. 

“I love you so much.” The being holding him whispered softly.  **_“ILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOUILOVEYOU”...”MINEALLMINE”_ ** Over and over the thought was practically screamed into his mind. He’d realized recently that the other didn’t realize he’d heard it. Not until he answered back with 

_ “I love you too. So, so very much. I’ll do anything for you.I’m yours. All yours _ ” He’d over heard some thoughts after that pertaining to how he heard it. That was when they realized that they’d entangled themselves so tightly they could both hear the other’s thoughts without consent. It was a strange concept to Cloud, who was used to only being able to hear what was intentionally sent, but who could never keep his thoughts private. If anything though, this connection only tied him tighter. Now he knew undeniably that he was loved. That he was cared for... that he was  _ important _ to someone. And he could be heard and understood and he’d gone a month without that and how had he ever taken his words for granted? He nuzzled in closer. He couldn't help but feel grateful. He felt that he'd learned from this, that it was a valuable lesson. He couldn't seem to resent  _ him _ for taking his voice away. Besides, the voices he heard told him that no one else deserved to hear what he has to say anyway. So he was simply content.

“Come now love, those…  _ ‘friends”  _ of yours will be here soon, and I’d rather them not see  _ MY  _ prize laid bare this way.” The man purred. “I do pride myself on my planning skills after all. Clearly I thought ahead and brought you clothes. Lift your arms.” Without question he did so, and continued to move around under the coaxing, letting the man dress him up like an oversized child’s doll. (in a way, that’s almost what he was anymore, wasn’t it?) 

The man guided him to the pool in the center of the building, letting him admire the handy work. Tight leather pants in the same style as the other male, a long turtleneck, knee high lace up boots, fingerless leather gloves. All of it in the deepest black available. And too top it all off, a cloak, like the others had before (he remembered watching them all flock forward, remembered being mesmerized by that sword cutting all of them down to take back the cells within. Remembered instinctively knowing he was more important than them, that that was not his own fate as well.) His eyes grew more intense with the shadowing of the hood, and those arms entrapped him once more, nearly invisible in the sea of dark cloth, as though they were one now, and held together by other means. He thought he heard the word “perfection” hum through the other’s thoughts. Thought he felt him claim “mine.” So he leaned back enough to get more contact, to show he agreed, that he was  _ his. _ It was then that  **they** finally appeared. 


	5. end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is all in my head? Maybe it's a dream. I think I loved you. I'm so sorry everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I pull your fingers through my hair   
> And push you away in hesitation   
> Slowly shaking my head side to side...   
> ~  
> A fruit that's lost its aftertaste   
> Abandoned senses spin round and round   
> Fill the empty hole   
> If at least the pain will disappear   
> ~  
> I can't feel anything anymore...   
> I count the memories one by one as they fall   
> I lie to myself and say things are great now   
> ~  
> A single fragment of black ash   
> Fluttering and falling down   
> My outstretched fingers tremble   
> With a rusty voice, both weak and strong   
> ~  
> Vague words and vague eyes   
> Vague lies and vague evasions   
> ~  
> I can't feel anything anymore...   
> I count the memories one by one as they fall   
> I lie to myself and say things are great now   
> ~  
> If that happiness had continued forever...   
> Would I be able to smile one of these days?   
> ~  
> An empty world where time has stopped   
> The ground beneath my feet warps and shakes   
> A faint heart disappears into the distance   
> With a rusty voice, both weak and strong”  
> -Amai no Mikaku, Girugamesh (translated)

They were here. The cloak’s hood obscured his vision with his head tilted down to the water like this , but he could feel, and hear, and  _ smell _ them. He lifted his face up, peering under                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 the hood. He saw them visibly jolt in shock. Saw Tifa’s face scrunch in horror and sorrow and “sorry” and ( _ ToolatetoolateI’m sorry I couldn't fight himCoudln’t… couldn’twhywouldI? _ **_hishishis.I’mhis_ ** _ )  _ her eyes laid her broken heart bare. It hurt still, vaguely, so vaguely. But he knew the pain didn’t matter. It would pass. He wasn’t supposed to love her (“ **You’re right. You weren’t meant to feel anything for them. Weak creatures, so beneath us”** the voice cooed, and he agreed.) 

“Cloud.” Vincent simply said. One syllable, one  _ word. _ It sounded so foreign, even though he knew it was his name, always had been. His eyes were dulled and hopeless even as he tried to grab attention from the blonde. Cloud’s eyes narrowed. He could since a frown hidden under that cloak. “I...Blink if you understand me, please. Anything, any small acknowledgement, just so I know you’re listening.” (“ **Don’t do it. He isn’t allowed to tell you what to do, I’m the only one… I reserved that right.”** ) Cloud ignored the prompting, instead pushing the hood back off of his head and glaring so blankly, head cocked a little too far to be fully human. Eyes glowing like bright neon he took one jerky step forward. His head turned back around,body turning with it, but the motion was somehow too choppy and too fluid all at once. He could hear Yuffie scream in horror( **disgust** ) as his gaze found those eyes ( _ even greener, so deeply green and pale and catlike. _ ) 

“Yes, puppet?” Those thin lips purred, smirking so casually at him.  “What do you want?” It was an act. He knew the other was in his head. Knew he knew  **exactly** what was wrong. But  **they** didn’t. Knowing this, he pressed his forehead into the other’s chest, stepping forward, embracing him. The strange wrongness of his movements (was it from the mind control, or something  _ else _ entirely?) the jerky _ elegant _ **refined** **_choppy_ ** movement was so horrifying most of them were unable to form words.

He seemed so inhuman yet so… _childlike_ was the best Tifa could think of to describe it, but that wasn’t quite right. Submissive was all Vincent could come up with, like this was some bondage that had just gone so far over the line it defied description. And the fact that the blonde was there _not_ ** _there._** LIke a phantom. A ghost of a friend. Wavering, inconstant, broken. The real Cloud in every sense but, _twisted_ **darker** ** _broken even more._** Seeing him left a vague numbness in Vincent. He’d seen this before, yes. But this was much much worse. Last time he’d seen this sort of thing happen, the blonde had still acknowledged them. Had been so shy and polite and _timid (“i’m so sorry.”)_

Cloud looked up, feeling those lithe fingers card through his hair. He knew the others were too afraid to act. He knew rubbing his face against the pale expanse of chest before him  would disturb them even more, so he did. The voices _ noises _ **_feelings_ ** were pleased and felt nice and warm and bubbly. He liked the feeling. Liked the feeling of those hands in his hair (even if still faintly he could feel the pain, so much the need to  _ fight _ **_surrender_ ** **runaway** stay.He  **loved** this being before him.  **Lovedlovedloved.** He knew, he knew, but these vague regrets, these desires to fight were still there, so faint and suppressed.) He loved the cold, pale skin. (no blood. No blood. Blood was for humans  **“pathetic, petty things”** and he knew so well that what he loved wasn’t human. But…  _ neither was he himself, really.  _ And master said they were  **above** such  **insignificant things** _ )  _ Loved those fingers trailing down the nape of his neck, those lips on his forehead.  **Loved.**

“You want them to go away, don’t you? Those worthless traitors?” That voice came. Ice cold lips trailed from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. He knew  **they** could hear. These weren’t faint whispers, but bold spoken statements phrased as questions for their sake. He nodded again. Holding tighter. Their mere presence hurt and he  **hated** it. ( **Hated them. Loved him.** Loved him and them and it hurt because he couldn’t go back, knew he couldn’t. He wanted to fight but he had no fight left. His brain so messed up from years of torment and recent forced “adjustments” and he was in agony thinking about it.) “Then kill them, you silly little toy.” He could feel them flinch and tense. Could hear Tifa crying. Those lips finally found and grasped his own, in front of  **them.** His got on his tiptoes, relishing in any attention from him( **master)** that he could get. Wanting **needing** **_craving_ ** more. Their entangled minds chanting together, smooth strands of thought quelling his rebellions so methodically, love sprouting from thoughts he knew instinctively were his own. He practically whined as the kiss was broken, but fingers came to trail his bottom lip (he heard not a peep from Avalanche and imagined they were shocked silent and still, terrified and horrified and enlightened with the revelation of just what type of fucked up this relationship really was.) 

“So good” That voice croons to him. “So good and perfect aren’t you, my little doll?” he had no voice anymore, but he felt he could  _ sing _ with the praise. His cheeks were flushed. His feet were planted but he swore he was  _ flying. _ He nodded so enthusiastically. “ _ Mine.  _ Finally, you’re... all... **_mine.”_ ** A pause.”Come, let us finish this, my love, my precious little  **toy.** Once they’re gone, nothing will ever come between us again. You want that to, don’t you? To be one forever? Inseparable? Bound so tight that nothing can ever steal you away again…” The dark possessive glimmer in those eyes, the overwhelming insanity and twisted, fucked up love _ (want _ **_desire_ ** **need)** and the horrible thick, viscous intensity of slick possessive jealousy as that already deep voice dropped to a near growl. Avalanche as a collective whimpered and flinched and stared in mute horror. “This is all you need to do.” He said, voice so calm and controlled once more. “All you have to do and we can continue consummating our love for as long as you like. And you can be safe, so safe. You know I’ve always protected you from worse, don’t you my love?” the growl softened back out. A loving caress of a lilting voice replaced it, hands cupping his cheeks. The blonde nodded once more. “Good little puppet.” The voice praised again. He would've hummed happily if he could, but he settled for pulling back to kiss the hands that had been on his cheeks. Contact broke. His frozen state broke. Mind going blank and fuzzy and high on messages of love and protection, he lifted his sword, neglected beside the pool until now. Even Barret was speechless, there being nothing to say. Tifa’s eyes said all there was to be said. There was no hope, just a vague muted fear, and pity, and some concoction of self blame. And then there wasn’t anything but dead, lifeless, dull  _ brown.  _ Dead brown eyes, the cloying scent and deep crimson flood of so much life spilling from her neck as her head rolled on the floor. Aiming for Yuffie next (noting to himself that there were tears in his eyes that  **shouldn’t** be there because he  **didn’t** love her. With her soft mahogany eyes and  _ “why do you never notice me? Is it because I’m weird like the other kids say? Am I that strange that I can never even be your friend?/I know I do love you as well, but I loved _ her _ more and I need time./I’m so sorry I hope you find the real.../the real me. Somewhere in this mess I call my head. Under the sorrow and loss, under the amnesia, the rage, the manipulated mess of a man with haunted eyes, under the methodical soldier that little boy still exists. That promise still exists. And under everything, i think I might’ve loved you. I’m sorry. I couldn’t, couldn’t keep that promise.” _ ) He brought his sword down, movement more jerky, more  _ wrong _ . His eyes were a bit more blue, a bit wet. Tears. He felt sad still, even feeling the thoughts of Tifa swept away carelessly and replaced with more entwinement. More  **love.** He was so close to chopping off Yuffie’s head and placing it near Tifa’s so their dead eyes could watch the rest of the party die, so mindlessly enswarmed in the chant in his mind and blood and soul ( **killthemkillthekillthem M I N E)** that he himself flinched as a clawed, deformed hand pushed her out of the way, other arm stopping his blade.  **_Chaos._ ** If his own transformation within the past hour seemed wrong, then this was the polar opposite. The eldritch abomination of Chaos and Vincent fused so tightly around each other (a small part, a still human part could feel it. Chaos’ nature as a weapon of the planet, Vincent’s resolve to save him. THey were working together for a similar goal, all differences aside) seemed  _ natural _ to the rest of the party. Vincent’s transformations always  _ protected _ them. Chaos was the strongest of them all, and there was a more natural flow to their combined motion than there was to the  _ Cloud _ **_NotCloud_ ** that stood before him. Vincent was their last hope, Chaos their defacto savior. 

“ _ You can fight him. I know you can.”  _ The conglomerate of weapon and man encouraged the blonde. The blonde wavered a little. Feelings returning. ( _ best friend. He understands. He can always understand. Oh gods, he’s still giving me a chance, and Tifa… Tifa is gone and I just...) _ “You’ve done it before. I believe in you.” And that voice is all Vincent, and when Cloud looks behind himself, all he sees is Sephiroth smirking like he knows the outcome already, and he feels more uncertain. ( _ But I just…. How could I go back? Do I even deserve forgiveness after this? _ ) A hand on his shoulder broke his reverie. Cid.

“Kid, We know you’re probably goin’ through hell. Shit, you’re probably mentally dragging yourself through every reason you have to die right now, knowing you. So Just stop being a dumbshit, and sit out for a while. We can protect you this time, we all knew ya’ were unstable.”

( _ How could they possibly still be willing to forgive me after what I just did? Why would they? I don’t understand…) _

“It’s because they’re lying, Cloud.” That voice echoed out across the room, Cloying into his head, repeating those words like a mantra. “They’re trying to get your guard down so they can kill you. You think they’d still want you after this? They only want to stop us.” It was so hard to disagree, those words made so much more sense than what they were saying. His eyes returned to green. He lifted his sword again. 

“Cloud, don’t listen to him.” Vincent pleaded. “He’s just manipulating you again.”  Those words fell on deaf ears. He couldn’t hear them, they didn’t connect in his brain. Not when the roaring pulse of shared thoughts and the fog of control and everything else was so loud in his head and his ears.

“He can’t hear you anymore.” Sephiroth gloats, smirking his usual smirk. His very posture belies his sheer faith in his own ability, his certainty in his own victory. “You didn’t think I’d let you take him away from me yet again, did you? With the same old tricks as usual.” He began to chuckle, the chuckle rising in crescendo until it became some weird chortling, mad cackle. Everything about the sound, how  _ composed _ it sounded, even in insanity it was too graceful and controlled to be even remotely human. It was eerie and refined and fit the man so well in its increasingly horrific sound. “That will not happen anymore. I won’t allow it.” His voice became more akin to a soft, mad whisper, everything about it so double sided. Dual natured. 

Vincent-Chaos growled in response. Vincent overcome with the need to save his friend, to prevent Cloud from suffering the same fate twice (the same one he himself had faced, the loss of a dearly beloved woman, the feelings of failure upon being unable to save her.)  He knew it was too late for Tifa, but he had a realization that it seemed even Cloud hadn’t understood yet. How could it be the blonde’s fault at all? How could he blame himself for his own instability? For the things he’d done under the control of an outside will, a foreign influence. Didn’t he understand that he needed protecting just as much as they did? That he was just as fallible and human as the rest? With a war cry, Vincent let Chaos’s fighting instinct take over. Their joined form launched forward. Deasy, fatal claws stretched out to scratch away at pale skin and leather until the smug bastard was gone. Until Cloud was safe. What Vincent didn’t expect was for Cloud to take the hit instead. He reeled back. That wasn’t who he’d wanted to hit. He smelled anger in the air, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He could smell blood. Feel pain. Upon looking down, he saw his legs were gone. He looked up, that lethal blade so close to his face. 

“ _ HOW  _ **_DARE_ ** _ YOU?! HOW DARE YOU HURT HIM?!”  _ Those green cat eyes were livid, but the non human creature quickly hid them behind his silver bangs, calming himself. “And here I was merciful enough to let you die by his hands. After all, you’ve all been so helpful to him in the past, and to me by extension. I thought you’d deserve at least that respect.” THat mad cackle from earlier returned. The high caliber so distorted and disturbing it shattered what reminded of the stained glass in the tall, arching windows of the dimly lit church. “How could I have forgotten, you’re all still human after all. Worthless creatures, even death seems too good for you. No matter, it won’t matter once you cease to exist, will it?” 

And with that, everything went black.

 

Cloud stared, his own mind fighting again, and so vaguely, he noticed Vincents gouged eyes staring at him from the floor, noticed the blood staining the area. Noticed his ( _ friends _ **enemies)** looks of horror and hopelessness. He felt oddly empty. Like he was in shock and numb with confusion and the conflict ceased to be just in his head. He was forced to remain impassive, a bystander. Like he had been with her. His arm hurt so very vaguely, but he didn’t notice. He faintly wondered if he still had a heartbeat, if he was still alive, if this was all a dream or hallucination. It had to be in his head right? 

“Shh.” That loathed **loved** voice whispered into his ear, soothing, calming. It sounded so nice and corporeal and grounding too. “Everything is going to be okay.” The voice continued. “You’re safe now.” 

_ Safe. _ He wanted to repeat, but his voice was still absent. Would always be absent from now on, as far as he new. He sobbed then. The irony hit him. He’d never really had a voice, had he? He was never someone who was allowed to hold opinions. First a pariah, then a military grunt, then… then this fucked up situation that hadn’t  _ stopped _ and just kept getting worse. His hands started tugging at his own hair, even as the other’s shrouded the outside world fro him. Even as the warm green glow of cure washed over him, erasing his physical pains, the vague unnamed feelings at wore in his mind tore on and on. He was so  _ tired.  _

“It’ll all stop once they’re gone.” The voice promised. That was all it took for him to black out completely. When he opened his eyes, it was in horror. Looking around to see everyone he’d loved and cared about strewn across the floor in chunks of flesh and pools of blood and all their eyes and heads staring directly at him. The blood was on his own sword. His mind was lifted out of the fog, and for once, not a single detail of the memory was obscured from him. He screamed. He screamed and screamed until his throat was raw with emotion and was to distraught to even register that his voice was back, to notice the hand petting his head, the smirk so condescendingly aimed at him. He screamed until he lost his voice all over again, from the shear strain, and lay there, a broken, sobbing mess. 

Gentles fingers slowly pried his face away from the scene, towards a difference face and ( _ their blood stained silver to crimson, their blood slick on those finger and in his own hair, and on his face, and soaking his clothes and gods, oh gods…. He want to die. He wanted to atone but there was nothing he could possibly do t make up for this. How had he let this happen? How had he done this by his own hand? They’re dead eyes haunted his mind, even as his met those cruel, horrible green ones he loathed so much.)  _

_ “Isn’t this a wonderful outcome? You’ve taken your cherished things away on you own for me.”  _ that condescending drawl came. The voice slowly morphed to a crooning purr. A mockery of proud affection. “ _ Such a good puppet.”  _ That voice made the realization dawn yet again. He wanted to scream, to cry, to yell and scream and beat on the being, the creature in front of him, but what was the point? He’d never had a control lapse so bad before. This… it told him he stood no chance. Any reaction at all would be giving the man who took everything from him exactly what he wanted anyway. THey weren’t the only ones who had died in his lapse, the rotting of their flesh attested to that. The memories of the world falling to ruin. And he was to blame. 

“Is it time for me to die as well?” He asked. Resigned. Tired.  That cruel face looked down at him in confusion.

“Why would I ever allow you to die? This was all for you, after all. See, there’s nothing to come between us. I can fight you, and consume you over and over, and there’s nothing to put a pause on our little game anymore. We’re together forever now.”

“But I….”

“Don’t worry, Cloud.” The sadistic gleam in those eyes, the overwhelming affection in that voice.  “I can make you forget everything that hurts you. I can give you resolve again. Nothing is beyond me now. This even won’t exist anymore. They wont exist anymore. It’s only a matter of time. Just go to sleep, everything will be alright when you just…  **w a k e  u p….** ”

And with that, he lost consciousness, and forgot everything but the strong conflicting feelings he felt for the man before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’d planned on finishing old dissidia one shot I’d typed in highschool like 3-4 years ago (oh gods I guess that reveals my age) while I was babysitting my best friend’s dogs for a week. (this was like, two or three weeks ago, so clearly I didn’t. Those rascals were a handful, and I was too busy watching a let’s play off ff6. One of few I hadn’t gotten to play myself or seen someone else play.)... sidetracked./ Anyway I didn’t do those even afterwards as I’d fallen into a depressive slump (well, I’ve been in one all summer more or less. So I scrolled listlessly through old fanfics in the archive, and, in my mopey state found this one while scrolling and uh, realized that this has 108 fucking kudos. How? Where? Why? Who? I’m so confused but happy and flattered and just, I don’t get why, but thank you all for the kudos.
> 
> This chapter was written to the song Aimai na Mikaku by girugamesh, and the archive version will have the translated lyrics as an epigraph. I also recommend you listen to the song itself while reading, to set the tone. 
> 
> Started at 7:30 PM pacific time 7/22/17. Written in arial font, .11, single spaced.  
> ended 10: 25 pm 8/1/17
> 
>  
> 
> If I owned anything I doubt the fandom would exist. or at least, they'd all hate me. I write messed up things.


End file.
